Disclaimer: I don't own GW, so don't sue. You wouldn't like me when I'm sued... I think?
AN: Just a short little one-shot, inspired spur-of-the-moment.
What We Know
There were four pictures that always sat upon her desk, day after day, year after year, for so long that he could never remember them not being there while she was in office. He had looked at them often and long enough, on those rare occasions that he crept from the shadows to "visit" her, memorizing even the minutest aspect of each. They were her dearest treasures, besides the old, worn bear that she often kept beside them, and he did not doubt she used them as a reminder to what had come to pass and what now was.
One was older than the rest, so tattered and faded that a person could wonder how it did not crumble within its frame. He had wondered more than once where she had gotten it, for surely all pictures like this one had been destroyed in the fall of her kingdom, but even his great skills of intel and observation could not find the source of that photo. It was a quaint scene – a happy one, with a tall, stern, regal-looking man standing behind a serene, blond-haired woman whose eyes shown with mirth and life. The man-long, white-blonde hair brushed to a fine sheen-had one hand placed on the shoulder of the seated woman, while the other held a child of perhaps four or five firmly against him. The small boy was nestled comfortably, but looked so much like the man that held him that it was a wonder the boy needed support at all for all his refined, independent nature. The woman, separately, cradled a baby in her arms, and looked for all the world as though she might be no happier in that moment than ever again.
It was the only remaining picture of her family, he was sure. Or, at least it was the only remaining picture with all of them together. There were paintings of her father and mother, here and there, but he knew she had never tried to seek them out. The name Peacecraft, and the legacy left behind by her parents, had become an ideal. The rest were memories that she did not have.
The next was of her and her brother: she smiling as happily and broadly as was possible, while a slight turn of the mouth was the only outward sign of joy in the other. He thought this picture appropriate, for now she was without her elder sibling, at least for the time being. Zechs had disappeared to fulfill one of those impossible dreams his sister dreamed. He was getting close to accomplishing it, too.
The third was one he knew well; one that he could remember being taken, even as he had been tricked into posing for it when she had suddenly grinned up at him and latched on to his waist while the others crowded around and made their own gestures of affection. He had only noticed the flash after it was over, and had been in no position to demand the film. She had framed the picture as soon as it had been developed, and had often commented in later years about how he should smile more often. In it, unlike the rest of their friends (who were beaming brightly for the photo), he was caught with a soft expression, his eyes turned down to look into her eyes as she had looked back and smiled that undeniable smile of simplicity and beauty. His lips were quirked in an unusual expression, and he had to admit that he had been unaware of the motion in that moment. Ironically, the background had been an old battlefield of the war.
He enjoyed looking at that photo.
The last, however, was the one that always caught and held his gaze without fail, for it was the only one that held a figure from outside of the war.
It was newer than the rest by several years, and locked inside a rich mahogany frame with carvings throughout, the glass always kept clear of dust and fingerprints. It stood a little to the side and in front of all the others, closest to her work area so that she could easily reach over and pick it up if she wished to. It was just a normal photo taken by a mutual friend. Somehow, it seemed like more.
She stood there with that same sort of smile that always called to whomever stumbled upon it, looking beautiful as afternoon sunshine sparkled in her honey-blond hair and on her bare shoulders. There was nothing significant in her stance or in the way she looked that said that moment was any different than the others. There was nothing different at all about her-except for the pair of arms wrapped around her waist, and the kind, happy face that beamed from behind her hair, green eyes alive with joy and contentment even while sandy locks fell predictably into that path of vision. Nothing was different, except for the man who was holding her close to himself in the way that lovers do.
He hated that picture.
The man was David Earlhelm, a kind, generous politician who owned a corporation similar to Quatre's. He was a handsome man, if one were to be modest about it, and almost as wealthy as the woman he held, known for donating almost half of his company profits to health organizations for research and aid. He came from a good family, and was intelligent - almost too much so to try and argue with - but humble to a degree where one could never think ill of the man no matter his persistence on an issue. He was charming, and sweet, and selfless, and, most of all… He was genuine.
He was everything Heero Yuy was not.
They had married five years ago in the spring, after almost five years of dating, and he had been there to see it, dressed in a tuxedo and seated on the bride's side of the church. He had watched the man known as Milliardo Peacecraft, appearing only for that one day of happiness, walk his sister down the aisle and pass her off to another man. He had not missed the gaze that had shot his way when Zechs had then turned off to the side and settled in his own seat, nor the unusually restrained smile of Duo Maxwell, who sat beside him throughout the ceremony. He had not missed the curious glances when, after the ceremony was over and the bride and groom were prepared to walk back down the aisle as husband and wife, she had approached him and kissed him chastely on the cheek. He had not missed the strange look in her eyes as her gaze had lingered on his, before she turned back to her new spouse and exited the church in a rush of cheers and flower petals. He missed nothing, and had not since or before that very day.
He stood now in her office, more than five years later, staring at that picture as it sat upon her desk, showing him the happiness she felt when she was in the presence of the one she had married. It was unmistakable - that love.
Relena Darlian loved her husband, and there was no doubt that David Earlhelm loved his wife with more passion than most men loved any woman.
Perhaps that was why Heero did not- could not hate him. He never had, even from the very first time Relena had begun to date the man. There was no envy, or jealousy, or ill will towards this strange, cheerful man. There was nothing but respect. He had accepted this "intruder" from almost the moment he had stepped into the picture, and, Heero suspected, he had somehow known what the result would be. Relena had as well, for he had seen it in her gaze more than once.
She was standing across the room at the moment, rummaging through and rearranging file folders before she had to leave for the evening. David was coming to take her for an early dinner and then out to a movie: a rare occasion for both. Heero had stopped in at one that afternoon to say his usual once-every-couple-of-months greeting, intending to be there only for fifteen minutes at most. It was almost five now.
Neither minded.
They had been sitting in a comfortable silence for almost a half hour, he doing work on her computer while she caught up with some papers she hadn't had time to sift through before.
That was the way they were with each other, content to be in each other's presence and simply knowing that the other was there, without ever saying a word.
But, for now, he was forced to break the silence.
"You'd better get ready if he's picking you up at five," he offered, not bothering to look up from the screen he was typing on. He heard her pause, listening to his words, before there was a shifting of papers and the distinct click of a file cabinet being shut. He did not need to look to know when she began shuffling around for her possessions: pulling on discarded shoes, rummaging through her purse for a brush, walking over to the mirror to fix her hair and make-up. He knew the way she did it all, down to the stroke of the brush through those golden strands. But he looked anyway, eventually, when she turned to study at him from across the room.
She had that look in her eyes again. It was the one she had given him when she had kissed him on the cheek at their wedding, and the one that she wore – discreetly – in the picture of her and David, beneath that bright smile. He had seen that look a million times before, but he chose to leave it. He had to leave it, as his duty to her.
Relena Darlian loved her husband.
Dropping her gaze back to her purse, he watched as she stuffed her brush back inside, along with a small, silver compact that he knew held a bit of blush and eye shadow. She wore no concealer, and never had.
There was a natural beauty in her that seemed to light a room, no matter how dark, and he was always glad to see her face and skin just as it should have been: clean, unblemished, and unmasked, if just a touch accentuated. Her skin was not pale, but a rich, warm shade, just short of a natural tan, and he found it suited her eyes and smile. She was, by nature, one of the kindest people he had even known, alongside Quatre. It was only proper she glow physically the way she did spiritually. It suited her.
Zipping her bag, Heero watched as she set it aside in a chair before approaching the desk. He leaned forward without need for prompting, and Relena easily grabbed her coat from the back of the chair in which he sat before he settled once again, watching in mild amusement as she pulled one arm through the tight jacket but found herself unable to locate the other. Smirking ever so fleetingly, he rose, and took up the flailing jacket arm, holding the coat steady so she could find her target. She threw him a knowing look.
"Don't start making fun of me," she berated light-heartedly. His smirk only deepened, and she gave him a playful shove, laughing, before looking down at her desk for any last-minute objects. Her eyes paused when they reached the same picture he had been staring at. The expression returned, and he did not dare try to decipher it.
"Are you meeting him outside? He should be here by-"
"Heero?" His attempt to distract her failed, and he knew what she was thinking, the expression deepening in those bright, cerulean eyes. He supposed he might have worn the same look, especially when she turned her gaze upon him. He did not respond.
Relena Darlian loved her husband.
She did not show an immediate response to his silence, but after a moment lowered her gaze to the floor. She closed her eyes and sighed deeply, soundlessly, her shoulders heaving slowly, up, down. It was as much a calming breath as a sigh.
In that moment, he ached to touch her, to pull her to his body and hold her as tightly as he could. His hands twitched with desire, but he kept them fiercely in check, schooling his features as best he could against her knowing gaze. When she looked at him again, he tried to be as stone. But he knew she saw through him, just like he saw through her.
That expression… He wondered if it would ever go away.
She was prepared to try again, he saw it even before she spoke, and did his best to intercept it this time.
"Hee-"
"You'd better get going. He's probably wondering after you." Something flickered in her gaze, failing in those eyes. Slowly, she nodded her acceptance, but instead of turning away, she moved closer, raising one hand to cup his cheek in an affectionate gesture. Against his better judgment, he raised a hand to hold over hers, tilting his cheek into her palm. It was as close as they would get.
Relena Darlian loved her husband.
She pulled away reluctantly, her gaze lingering on his features, then turned and retrieved her purse just as there was a knock as the door opened.
"Honey, you're still here? I thought that you were- Oh! Heero! How good to see you!" The green-eyed businessman strode across the room in a happy greeting, holding out his hand as a smile spread across his features. Heero took the offered hand and shook it with a nod of respect. He then watched as David turned to smile at his wife. "You should have told me you had company, we could have done this another time, 'Lena. I don't want to tear you away from an old friend."
Relena looked as though she might speak, but Heero quickly took the initiative. "No, I have to be going. I have a flight out tonight. I just stopped by for a short time." David nodded in understanding, and Heero did not miss that flicker through the eyes of both husband and wife.
"Well, then, we'd better get going. It was nice seeing you, Heero. You should stop by more often. I know Relena loves to see you when you visit." He smiled amiably, at the same time wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders. Relena nodded in agreement.
"Yes, you should stop by when you can. I know you're busy, but…"
"I'll try. Next time, maybe, there'll be more time," he said quietly. Both seemed to accept this. "I'll lock up, you two go ahead." He could see the protest on her lips even as David's eyes lit with appreciation.
"It was good seeing you, Heero."
"…You too."
He did not miss the glances both threw back at him, first one, then the other, neither seeing what the other did. Then they were gone, and he was left alone.
Gathering up his own jacket, he shut down the computer and organized the papers of the desk, before glancing one last time at the photos before turning to leave the room.
Relena Darlian loved her husband…
But Relena Peacecraft loved her soldier even more.
He turned off the lights, shutting the door behind him.
It's a bit odd, I know, and it came out a little different than I had originally wanted, but I kind of like it. I hope you did too.
-Sar